Читать книгу Adrift on the Pacific: A Boys [sic] Story of the Sea and its Perils - Ellis Edward Sylvester - Страница 9

Life on board the schooner Coral, bound for the South Seas, now became like one delightful dream.

The sails, fanned by the steady trade-wind, hardly ever required attention, since the course of the craft never varied more than a few points for days at a time, and whoever it was at the wheel, he might as well have lashed it fast and gone to sleep, for all the necessity there was of keeping awake.

There had been some elemental disturbances which required seamanship to weather, but nothing like that usually encountered in the Atlantic. But there came a long spell of weather, faultless in every respect, and whose only drawback was the dread that each day would be the last of such delight. The sun rose clear and bright, and at high noon, as they approached the equator, it was sometimes hot, but the breeze which continually swept the deck tempered it to the crew and passenger. Had they been caught in a calm the heat would have been suffocating; but Providence favored them, and they sped along like a seagull toward their destination. There seemed to be times when the green surface of the sea was at perfect rest; but the regular rising and sinking of the Coral showed that the bosom of the great deep was heaving as it always does, though the long swells came only at extended intervals.

The water was of crystalline clearness, and, looking over the gunwale, one could see far into the depths, where strange-looking fish were sporting, sometimes coming to the surface and then shooting far down beyond the reach of human vision. Now and then, too, as little Inez leaned over the side of the vessel and peered downward, she caught sight of something like a shadow, gliding hither and thither, apparently without the slightest effort to keep pace with the schooner, which was bowling along at a rapid rate. It was one of those monstrous sharks, that will snap a man in two as quickly as if he were but an apple, should he fall overboard.

Not a day passed without descrying one or more sails at varying distances, but our friends did not hail or approach any. Both Captain Bergen and Mate Storms were in a nervous condition, and were morbidly apprehensive of being anticipated by some one in dredging for the invaluable pearl-oysters. They were afraid their errand would be suspected, or they would be attacked after they should secure their prize.

One day, under the pretense of wanting medicine, Hyde Brazzier suddenly appeared at the cabin door. The mate and captain were, as usual, studying the chart, and while the mate was ransacking the medicine chest for the drug, that single eye of the sailor secured five minutes’ sharp scrutiny of the all-important map.

Redvignez and Brazzier were not much together, as a matter of course, for one was in the captain’s watch and the other in the mate’s, but during the long, pleasant days and nights when they were voyaging toward the South Seas, they obtained many opportunities for confidential talks. All this might have been in the natural order of things on board the schooner, where the discipline was not strict, but Abe Storms had become pretty well satisfied that harm was meant, and mischief was brewing. He saw it in the looks and manner of these two men, who, while they were watching others, did not suspect they were watched in turn.

About Pomp he was not so certain. The steward and cook seemed to be on good terms with the two sailors, and he frequently sat with them as they formed a little group forward, on the bright moonlight nights, when they preferred to sit thus and smoke and spin yarns to going below and catching slumber, when it was their privilege to do so.

“I believe he is in with them,” was the conclusion which Storms, the mate, finally reached, after watching and listening as best he could for several days. “They’re hatching some conspiracy–most likely a mutiny to take possession of the ship. Captain Bergen doesn’t suspect it–he is so absorbed in the pearl business; and I’ll let him alone for the present, though it may be best to give him a hint or two to keep him on his guard.”

It never can be known what the restraining power of little Inez Hawthorne was on board that vessel on her extraordinary voyage to the Paumotu Islands, in the South Seas. She lived over again the same life that was hers during the few days spent on the Polynesia. She ran hither and thither, climbing into dangerous places at times, but with such grace and command of her limbs that she never once fell or even lost her balance. She chatted and laughed with Brazzier and Redvig, but she preferred the others, and showed it so plainly in her manner, that, unfortunately, the two could not avoid noticing it.

“See here,” said Captain Bergen, one evening while sitting in the cabin with the child on his knee, “I want you to try and think hard and answer me all the questions I ask you. Will you?”

“Of course I will, if you don’t ask too hard ones.”

“Well, I will be easy as I can. You have told me all about the big steamer that you were on when we found you, and you said that you lived with your Uncle Con in San Francisco, and that it was he and your Aunt Jemima that put you on board.”

“I didn’t say any such thing!” indignantly protested Inez. “I haven’t got any Aunt Jemima–it was my Aunt Letitia.”

The captain and mate smiled, for a little piece of strategy had succeeded. They had never before got the girl to give the name of her aunt, though she mentioned that of her uncle. But she now spoke it, her memory refreshed by the slight teasing to which she was subjected.

“That’s very good. I’m glad to learn that your uncle and aunt had two such pretty names as Con and Letitia Bumblebee.”

“Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?” demanded Inez, turning upon him with flashing eyes. “I never heard of such a funny name as that.”

“I beg pardon. What, then, is their name?”

The little head was bent and the fair brow wrinkled with thought. She had tried the same thing before, though it must be believed that she could not have tried very hard, or she would not have failed to remember the name of those with whom she lived but a short time before. But she used her brain to its utmost now, and it did not take her long to solve the question. In a few seconds she looked up and laughed.

“Of course I know their name. It was Hermann, though he sometimes called himself George Smith.”

“The other sounds German,” remarked Storms, in a lower voice. “Go ahead and get all you can from her.”

“How long did you live with them?”

“Let me see,” said Inez, as she turned her lustrous blue eyes toward the roof of the cabin, as if she expected to read the answer there. “I guess it was about two–three hundred years.”

She was in earnest, and Storms observed:

“She must be a little off on that; but take another tack.”

The captain did so.

“Do you remember living with any one excepting your Uncle George and Aunt Letitia?”

Inez thought hard again, and replied, after a few seconds:

“I don’t know. Sometimes he was Uncle George and sometimes Uncle Con. We lived in the city a good while, where there were, oh, such lots of houses! but there was a time before that when we come such a long, long way in the cars. We rode and rode, and I guess we must have come from the moon, for we was ten years on the road.”

“Do you remember what sort of looking place the moon was?”

“It was just like San Francisco–that is, it was full of houses.”

The officers looked at each other with a smile, and the mate said:

“It’s plain enough what that means. She has come from New York, over the Union Pacific, and her trip was probably the longest of her life.”

“Do you remember your father and mother?”

“I don’t know,” said Inez, with a look of perplexity on her young face which it was not pleasant to see. “Sometimes I remember or dream of them, before we took such a long ride on the cars. My mother used to hold me on her lap and kiss me, and so did my father, and then there was crying, and something dreadful happened in the house, and then I can’t remember anything more until I was on the cars.”

“It may be all right,” said Captain Bergen to his mate, “for this could occur without anything being amiss.”

“It is possible; but I have a conviction that there is something wrong about the whole business. I believe, in short, that the person who placed her on board the steamer Polynesia had no claim upon her at all.”

“That, in fact, the man stole her?”

“That’s it, exactly; and still further, I don’t believe she has any father or mother in Japan, and that if we had gone thither we should have lost all the time and accomplished nothing.”

“It may be, Abe, that you are right,” said the captain, who held a great admiration for his mate, “but I must say you can build a fraud and conspiracy on the smallest foundation of any man I ever knew. But, Abe, you may be right, I say, and if you are, it’s just as well that we didn’t go on a fool’s errand to Tokio, after all.”

“The truth will soon be known, captain.”